Ok, while I am trying to put together the random sparks that are scurrying their little gimp butts around in my cerebrum, I thought I'd tell a little story on my buddy Lawdog. Maybe give a little insight into our unique relationship.
It was the summer of 1988. I was an incoming freshman at the local University and had met some lovelies at orientation. I, being the stand up guy that I am, decided that 3 girls were WAY too many for me to handle on my own, so I rang old LD and told him to get his tail to the school. We all decided to have a few drinks and check out the new Nightmare on Elm Street movie...number 4 I believe. Well, a few drinks turned into double shots of PR 151 and Jager.
LD was an abstainer at the time and remained the only sober one in the bunch...personally I think he did it just to get to do what he did later...but I get ahead of myself.
The time finally came to head out to the theater and well, I fell down 3 flights of stairs taking 2 of the young ladies with me. Fortunately, we were REALLY relaxed and no one got hurt. LD and I pile into my truck (which I still own to this day...I'm sure we'll get to talk about Old Blue at some point) and the girls into one of their cars and off to the movies we go.
I seem to remember leaning heavily on someone whilst buying my ticket...I think it was LD and one of the girls...not sure. Not 5 min later my body decided it was going to take umbrage at all the ethanol coursing through my veins and I lost all control of several bodily functions. LD being the buddy he is rushes me into the necessary room so I can make my mess on tiled a floor.
And now, the sole reason I believe he didn't imbibe back in those days. LD decided that it was his responsibility, nay his God given right to get me sober in the next 10 min. Every time I hoarked, he would ask me a question and regardless of the answer tell me I was wrong and slap the ever-loving piss out of me. This usually had the effect of triggering another eruption of Mt. Tolewyn...rinse and repeat.
After what had to be a week and a half of this cycle, LD decides that he isn't going to reach his goal. He makes apologies to the girls and throws my near dead butt back in the truck. I lived, I kid you not, 5 miles from the theaters. LD put over 50 miles on my truck getting me home. Why you ask? Well, it seems that it had begun to rain and LD decided that the thing that will finally straighten me out is some nice cool rain water...administered to my face...at 60mph.
Did I mention that I had hair past my shoulders? By the time he got me home it was full of mud and twigs and in one big knot on the back of my head. If I had but used the brain that I spoke of in my earlier post I would have seen the pattern of this behavior over the previous 5 or so years of our friendship when I had seen him and several other members of the Rat Pack administer similar "slobber-knockings" to those in the group who overshot their tolerance of the demon liquor.
Which calls to mind an episode I call the "Flying Cadillac" or "Jay's mom is gonna kill us." But that is another story.